


strobe (to find my way to you)

by litteringfire (heartrapier)



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Living Together, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, ambiguous to established relationship, implied rintoko, more tags to be added i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7896253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartrapier/pseuds/litteringfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A point to waiting; a point of return.</p><p>They find, in time, that there is home in being with one another.</p><p>(Or, <i>when you care, it's kind of hard to stay away</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ummm this is a part of my personal project where i attempt to write ibkr daily ig and im posting it here so i wont dare stopping halfway out of shame sooo
> 
> anyway!! linear timeline, future fic where chrono is around college-age. they survived stride gate and all, idk. peaceful times. they havent started living together in this chapter, its like, uh, prologue.

Outside, the storm persists.

It is one of the reasons Chrono finds himself half-seated on his bed, rubbing at his eyes blearily. The typhoon claws at the windows on his side, droplets clapping on the glass, raging on.

Blowing out strands of his hair that fall over his sight, Chrono squints at the slightly open door of his bedroom, at the soft and discreet flood of light from the living room beyond. He groans, offhandedly wondering if he's gotten careless and forgotten to turn it off before sleeping.

The wind howls. It takes Chrono a while to realise the muffled sniveling isn't part of the heavy rain blanketing the otherwise silent night. Chrono glances around the room, suddenly sober, looking for any probable weapon he might have left around that could be utilised for self-defence.

And then, belatedly, a thought forces its way out of the depth of his anxiety.

Snaking a hand through his hair, Chrono groans and slides off the bed. The floor is metallic cold, bumpy and scratched from age. Chrono traces his steps with his toes, standing on the tips as he glides towards the exit.

The living room is bright, the only hints of shadow being the darkened kitchen on its joint. On one of the couches lays a person, long hair strewn all over the spare pillow under his head, blanket thrown off onto the table next to it. The man's arms are bent, palms pressed on his forehead, fingers digging into scalp.

Chrono drags his feet closer, wincing at the groan that escapes between Ibuki's chattering teeth.

His hand is trembling, Chrono recognises with worry, looking down at the end of his pyjama sleeve. But he can't possibly be as scared as Ibuki currently is, struggling as if he's being eaten inside-out in his nightmare, tremors from gasps shaking the couch, ribs threatening to push out of his heaving chest. His eyelids are squeezed shut with extreme force, energised merely by his horrified mind.

Chrono reaches out and grabs hold of one of Ibuki's hands; he circles the thin wrist with his fingers and makes a motion to tug at it gently. Before Ibuki can pull it back towards himself, before he can continue on to form a cocoon out of his own arms, Chrono caresses at the older man's cheek, at the drying tears.

"Hey," he whispers, "hey, wake up."

Ibuki moans, tossing his head sideways, burying his face deeper into Chrono's palm.

"Ibuki," Chrono says, slowly, as if speaking to a child, each syllable clear and constant, "Ibuki, it's okay. It's me, you see? It's Chrono."

Time must have ticked away before Ibuki finally glances at him, one eye half-closed, sweats dripping off his chin.

Chrono answers Ibuki's hoarse, desperate question, with the light lilt of his voice, intent to assure, "Yeah, it's me, see? Look at me."

He brushes off the bangs sticking on Ibuki's forehead, at the same time Ibuki tilts his head upwards, their breaths colliding.

"Chrono," Ibuki mutters, lips a hairsbreadth from Chrono's own.

Chrono knows, for a fact, that Ibuki would have pushed him out of the way any other time. But this Ibuki is limp, exhausted, and content with just being awake, freed from a dreamscape that locked him in.

"Tea or hot chocolate?" Chrono asks. Ibuki blinks at him, evidently baffled. "Right. Hot chocolate it is. That's the best choice for a cold night drink." Patting at Ibuki's forearm, Chrono gives one small smile before getting up, "I'll only take a minute."

He slaps the kitchen's lights on, striding to open the various cabinets. The noisy rustles of the chocolate plastic packs seem to fill the air for a long, static moment. Chrono leans into the bar, keeping an unwavering eye at Ibuki, who is now sitting up, shoulders slumped, head lolling between his knees. Hair parted evenly in the middle, revealing a bluish pale nape.

There is a hunger inside Chrono to run back and drape a blanket over him, to stroke at his spine.

At the end, the steam from the hot chocolate puffing at their face, Chrono pushes back into the empty space next to Ibuki. The blanket is spread on his lap, and Ibuki bandages his fingers with the fabric, as if seeking warmth.

"Better drink it while it's still hot." he says, by means of small talk.

Ibuki nods, and blows on his drink before sipping at it and sighing.

"It's good, isn't it?" Chrono grins, hoping that Ibuki would eventually catch his eye, "Mikuru-san used to make them for me whenever I woke up in the middle of the night."

"It is," Ibuki says, less than a whisper.

The atmosphere is giddy, with both Chrono's anticipation for more and wish for patience. His fingers are drumming on the handle of his cup as he counts the words, as he breathes. On his left, Ibuki continues on in silence, eyes now closed in an act that seems rather blissful, the warmth of the drink in his palms.

"Next time," Chrono says, hesitant, "next time you're coming over, just take my bed."

The way Ibuki turns his gaze towards him is painfully slow, and razor-sharp with demand for answers.

"It's more comfortable." Chrono tries to reason, "And with your long legs, this couch isn't going to be of any good."

Ibuki doesn't seem interested in looking away anytime soon. That straight way he is drilling his eyes into Chrono's feels almost venomous.

"It'll be easier for me to wake you up then, too," Chrono has no need to say from what, if the tiny hiccup on Ibuki's knuckles is any indication, "and I will make us hot chocolate as well, just like this."

He hopes his enthusiasm alone is enough for the both of them; his grin, his sincerity, his open arms, it's to welcome Ibuki, it's to assure him comfort.

"Next time you're here," Chrono says, one hand wrapping over Ibuki's, the heat from the cup in their hold dizzying, "hopefully there doesn't have to be any sudden typhoon to make you stay."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since theyre like. 20-21 here its not. really underage drinking??? anyway. some verse-building

"Why me?" Chrono asks, gritting his teeth under the harsh night breeze.

"It obviously can't be me, can it," Tokoha huffs, struggling to fix the strap of her sling-bag on the crook of her elbow, tripping into her own leg despite having been standing in the same place for last couple of minutes.

"The last time I spent the night at Tokoha's place, her parents wouldn't stop lowkey threatening me from ever considering making her my bride." Shion says matter-of-factly, expression stern _—_  although it is somewhat diluted by the flushing of his cheeks.

"You told me, yeah, but," Chrono flails, close to choking when a hiccup gets stuck in his throat, "but you're never that bothered about it before."

"It's not like they're serious about it as well, Shion," Tokoha chuckles, in the tone of someone who knows a joke when she sees one. "They're pretty fond of you. And Chrono, too. You two are probably already like sons to them."

Chrono briefly wonders if he should voice out what's in his mind: _It's no wonder. We've been around for nearly seven years by now._

"I wouldn't mind having you over any other times, Shion, honest," Tokoha proceeds to sigh, cradling her similarly pink cheek on one hand. "But I'm going out with Rin for the weekend, as you can see." She gesticulates at her attire, as if the plain T-shirt and week-old jeans can indicate anything of the state of her wardrobe.

Shion waves her off, standing up from where he's been sprawled all over the asphalt, tugging at his jacket to paint the illusion that, while he might be drunk, he is a respectful and polite drunk.

"I still can't see why he has to crash my place instead of returning home," Chrono argues, at the same time as Tokoha goes on to check her wristwatch.

"Last train just left." she says, smirking, looking like everything has gone exactly as she's just planned.

Chrono massages at the bridge of his nose. His apartment is just a couple of blocks away, after all, and it's easier for Tokoha to hail a taxi home alone instead of collecting the entire fare of stopping at three consecutive locations. Really, he loves Shion and all, but even he has limits, and the limit lays at going around lugging the drunk.

"Can't one of your _friends_ pick you up?" Chrono asks, sighing, but he loops an arm around Shion's back, anyway.

"It's not working hours," Shion says, doesn't sound as if he's just sent his multiple partners in crime on a long weekend holiday. Even local gang leader has standards, it seems.

Despite the weight on his shoulder, Chrono finds himself giggling.

"You have to shower in my place, though. I don't want the house smelling like booze," Chrono tells him one last time before waving Tokoha goodbye, getting started on walking out of the noisy road as soon as the taxi she's entered has left the vicinity.

"Right, right," Shion agrees, "wouldn't want to let Mikuru-san come home to a sake-scented house."

"I'm glad we've reached an agreement," Chrono laughs, and together they drag their heavy feet down the path leading to the Shindou's residence.

 

 

 

"Why do you have Ibuki-san's shirt in your bathroom?"

Shion says this, half-shouting, the hairdryer on one side of his head, spare towel wrapped around his neck.

"What?" Chrono responds, also half-shouting, eyes bulged, mostly confused; has he misheard Shion's words?

"Ibuki-san's shirt." Shion repeats, lowering the blower's power, "It's mixed in with the dry laundry."

Chrono blinks. "I'm surprised you recognised it."

Shion tilts his head to one side, falling into place on the couch as he brushes at the last of wet hair with his fingers. "It's sort of hard not to when he's been wearing similar stuff for years."

Chrono chuckles. "That's true."

Tossing a bottle of mineral water at Shion, Chrono leans down on his side. The bottle is pressed over his forehead, and he sighs. After a few seconds, unbidden, Chrono says, "Remember the typhoon a couple of weeks ago?"

Trust Shion to immediately get the hint; they haven't been hanging out together for half a decade without some inevitable heart-reading.

"Ah. He really stayed over, then?" Shion says, nodding, arms crossed. "Mamoru-san did tell us the two of you were leaving the venue together right before the typhoon struck."

"Yeah, we were nearby, and I would be a demon to let him go home in the storm." Smile sheepish, Chrono recounts, "His clothes were drenched. I had to lend him some of mine."

It was not so much the rainwater as it was mostly sweats, accumulated over the hours in which nightmares pooled over the man, laid on the same couch Chrono and Shion are currently sitting on.

"But that's weeks ago," Shion hums, "why hasn't he gone back for them by now?"

"Beats me," Chrono says, shrugging. There is a faint distaste on his tongue. The bottle no longer has that refreshing coolness from being discarded off the fridge, and Chrono puts it down on the table across his legs. "Maybe he doesn't want to see me again."

Shion regards him, and, out of spots to stare at, Chrono watches him eye-to-eye. His longtime friend snorts into the bottle, amusement loud in his eyes.

"What, did you do something to him?" Shion asks, and in between the laughter there is disbelief dissolved in concern.

"Uh." Chrono hesitates; he doesn't think he has the right to share the short moment of intimacy Ibuki had indirectly given him, as they cradled hot chocolate side by side that one night.

Shion gives a fond sigh, and moves. His fingers are digging into Chrono's forearm, but the gesture is more support than it is a threat.

"Chrono," Shion says, his voice gentle, "I don't know what happened between the two of you, but I know you."

The very contact reminds Chrono that both Shion and Tokoha are his; and he is eternally, forever grateful, that he is lucky to have ever been granted the chance to a life with them.

"You know what to do, right?"

He mirrors the satisfaction blended in Shion's smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i missed out on the 3rd day yesterday bc i live to sleep orz

In his contact, the number is listed under the name _Ibuki Kouji_.

It wasn't always that. It spent quite a while under _Old Man_ , and even longer as _That Guy_  — but the latter was from a long while ago, before they were even seeing eye to eye, and it was a nickname Chrono had coined under the pretense of annoyance, and as a reminder of the humiliating words Ibuki had thrown at him during their first, rawest, meeting.

Chrono balances the phone in his hand as he leans on the metal bar, head tilted to observe the bobbing clouds above him. Behind him cars speed by, the blinking of traffic light ahead signalling the start of rush hour.

When he presses the green call button at the end, he releases a breath he wasn't aware of even holding in.

"This is Ibuki Kouji—"

Chrono blows some air through his nostrils, frantic. "Hey, it's me—"

"—if you're hearing this, then I am currently incapable of answering the phone. Please leave a message if the matter is urgent."

He sighs, long and exhausted, and stuffs the phone back into his pocket. _Figures_ , the guy would of course be unreachable. He hasn't been seen by any of them for the last few weeks, after all. Still; it makes him feel foolish for hoping that Ibuki would reply as per usual — all monotone and matter-of-fact, driving right into the point as if his goal is to condense the phonecall into less than a minute talk.

The air has become more humid then; Chrono stretches out his arms and walks down the road, unsure of where to head towards, thinking only of moving on.

His feet bring him under the bridge.

"Seriously," he scolds himself, kicking at a pebble. He comes to stand by one of the pillars, and after a moment of watching the ceiling of the bridge — the bottom part of the highway — rumble and buzz with the daily traffic humdrum, Chrono takes out his deck in impulse and riffles through the cards.

Chrono Dran lays on top, and immediately Chrono sighs again, louder this time, completed at last with a groan.

"Fine!" Chrono growls, his phone quite literally tossed out from inside his trousers pocket and onto his ear. "I will keep calling him, geez."

Without even having to scroll down his contact list, Chrono punches at Ibuki's name with determination.

It's on the fourth try that the call doesn't end up connected to the mailbox.

"Sorry," Ibuki says before Chrono can even get a word out, "it was on silence."

Chrono can't help the incredulous snort, huffing, "About time."

Ibuki gives no answer to that, and the soft, audible breathing over the static sounds so much as if a wish for Chrono to initiate.

"The clothes you left at my place," Chrono says, "they're already all dried and ironed, you know."

"Ah," Ibuki says, almost falling into another silence, but: "I also need to return the shirt you lent me."

"You can keep it, whatever you want," with minuscule hesitance, Chrono waves him off, "but there's no point in me keeping your clothes, on the other hand."

Ibuki sounds small as he says, "I will grab my stuff in your apartment later."

"Tomorrow." Chrono hums. "Tomorrow afternoon. Can you?"

"I," Ibuki whispers, "I think."

"Great." he is smiling, but Chrono is mostly thumbing on his own palm gingerly. "I will make us dinner while we're at it."

"You don't need to," Ibuki's voice is baffled, dazzled, "I won't be intruding long."

"There is, uh, something I want to talk about. With you." Chrono flushes, ear on the speaker as if it's been glued there since its birth.

The other line falls into unvoiced wonder as well, and Chrono can just imagine Ibuki crunching his nose in thought.

"What is it?" Ibuki asks, apparently opting for direct answer instead of guesses. "I don't recall any business we handled together that isn't already finished."

Chrono hisses, hand pressed on forehead in a feeling akin to amusement and fondness. "No, not about any of that. Really, should we always have a formal topic whenever I want to talk with you?"

"Then why," Ibuki says, flat.

Somehow half-tempted to laugh, Chrono grins, "I just said I want to talk with you, old man." Afterwards, with a considerably long pause in between, Chrono pulls the phone closer and mutters, "I miss you."

A huge truck must have passed by the highway above; the persistent honk rang in the air, bumps of giant tires hit the asphalt, and Chrono winces at the noise.

Later that day, Chrono will blame the vehicle in question for the simple fact that it had to have the worst timing and make Chrono unintentionally hear only patched parts of Ibuki's reluctant " _I miss you as well, Chrono._ "

"I will see you tomorrow, then?" Chrono asks, already making his way out from the shadows. And, before he forgets: "Call me when you're already close by."

"Okay," Ibuki says, this time business-like, eager to exit the conversation. "Then, that's it."

"We will continue tomorrow," Chrono is embarrassed by how his smile easily reflects the giddiness blooming in his chest.

"See you tomorrow, Chrono."

 _Ah, who cares anymore_ , Chrono thinks, skips in his steps. "See you tomorrow, Ibuki."

The sunset that greets him is a blend of magenta and pink; Chrono watches it sink, and caresses at the warmth on his cheeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [laugh track]
> 
> some motivation was lost and my schedule became hectic, but i managed to piece together a very short chapter. more of an interlude.

He’s out of eggs.

Chrono gives an exaggerated sigh at the fridge, mentally calculating the number of food he needs to pick up from the supermarket. Mikuru’s portions aside, there isn’t too much that he can’t bring it home by hand. No matter, it would be quite an amount; Ibuki’s appetite as it is, won’t deter Chrono from feeding the guy more.

By the time he’s stepped into the building, there is sale for tofu, and his mind quickly supplies the recipes necessary for it. Miso soup is an essential part of dinner, after all.

Despite the huge sale banner and handed-out brochures, the supermarket is more sparse than it had been the last time he visited, but Chrono has technically memorised the public busiest hours to navigate his own business around it. The humdrums of the thin crowd playing in the back of his mind, Chrono slides around the aisles, automatically reading price tags and expiration dates, weighing packages and feeling the skin of fruits.

There is so much deliberation he spends between honeydew and watermelon, but in the end he decides on the latter, a whole fruit of it, anyway.

(For several reasons _—_ one of which is Ibuki, and another one is Mikuru.

The second reason does not have any involvement whatsoever with the first one.)

 

_With Ibuki it’s reminiscent of a day in the previous summer, sands prickling at the soles of their feet, chest tingling from the stroke of sunlight, and the red of watermelon meat on Taiyou’s arms, seeds trickling down his wrists. A light sprint, a piece handful, offered to a lone man hugging his legs under the beach parasol, long hair tied in ponytail, sweats on his open collar._

_Ibuki said thanks, baffled and overwhelmed and touched. Taiyou grinned, hands flailing, boasting his batting skills._

_From afar, Hiroki shouted a challenge, and Taiyou stood up in response._

_Tokoha threw the volleyball, and it hit Chrono straight in one ear; he tumbled down, sinking into the sand full of shells._

_Until a moment before, his eyes had always been directed at the shade cast by the parasol._

 

_With Mikuru it’s of another hot day in another summer spent under the creaking roof of the orphanage, kids sprawled around and groaning, taking turns in front of the electric fan. Sweats made it hard for Chrono to open his eyes; it took him a couple of seconds to register Mikuru’s footsteps, her cheerful greeting, her hands holding onto a platter of watermelon slices._

_The red watermelon was stark against her white sailor uniform, but the smile she offered him was so much more. Suddenly, sitting by the porch, legs swinging to and fro, biting in seeds, with Mikuru humming by his side, made the heat feel less unbearable._

 

As he is wedged in the milk aisle, Chrono barely thinks before he makes a flurry grab at one item. By himself he would have chosen any other product, but a scene of the past, one single coincidental meeting in central Asakusa, has made up his mind long before the action takes place.

 

( _For once he was alone, and he didn’t expect any company, even moreso in the form of one Ibuki Kouji, staring at the nameplate of a particularly crowded cafe with intensity like no other._

_And, amused, Chrono found himself say, “What did this place ever do to you?”_

_Ibuki turned to him immediately, caught off-guard, but the embarrassment sported on his cheeks didn’t stop him from muttering, “I was contemplating whether it would be wise to buy an overpriced cup of coffee before payday.”_

_A blink. “Are you serious—actually that is a sound question, yes.”_

_The progression of scenes that followed afterwards were extremely cliched, but they undoubtedly led Chrono to sit with Ibuki by the window bar, thumbing at each their drink, ripping at sugar packs._ )

 

Lightly, Chrono wonders if Ibuki is at least competent enough to prepare _ochazuke_ in the occasion where he couldn’t fix himself a dinner by the time he gets home _—_ but Chrono, cringing, is doubtful of both scenarios. The guy seems more likely to go to sleep without dinner instead of doing any extra tasks.

 _I would prepare dinner, though_ , Chrono considers, and then stares down at the radish in his hand. ... _I already am_.

He is more than glad for the chance; he would take it up with delight.

“Still, I’m not going to always be able to cook for him,” he sighs, setting the vegetable back into its basket.

On the other hand, as Chrono’s eyesight fixes itself at the frost on the lineup of fish in the next aisle, his dinner plan wastes no time to be checked off in his head.

Trudging on the sidewalk, the sun hitting at his back, Chrono’s gaze is terribly fond. “Really, what a helpless guy. It would be nice if he enjoys today’s dinner.”

He doesn’t mind that he whispers aloud in a tone that is none other than affectionate.

 


End file.
